


Croquis.

by kuriositet



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-23
Updated: 2012-06-23
Packaged: 2017-11-08 09:58:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/441972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuriositet/pseuds/kuriositet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everything has a beginning, a continuation and an ending. For Frank and Gerard it was all about croquis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Croquis.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this in February/March 2009. It was first posted on mibba, then LJ and DW. Edited only because of typos and grammatical errors.

**I. Beginning**  
Croquis, that's how we began. I had a brief job during nights my last year in high school, as a model at the School of Visual Arts. It was well paid, considering I was so young and I only worked two hours a week, but the fact that the college students were sketching my naked body, over and over again, definitely added a few dollars to the paycheck. The first times were embarrassing, the feeling of everybody's eyes burning over my body made me squirm and it was difficult to stay still. It got better when I a few weeks later got my first tattoo, a small one saying 'Hope' on my chest. It made me feel less naked and more confident. The constant blushing stopped.

He was a student, being there every night to sketch the shape and contour of my body, discreetly staring at ever patch of bare skin he could see. As I got more comfortable with modeling I'd let my eyes travel over the many students and would often get stuck on him, meeting his eyes which were running wild with passion as the piece of charcoal in his hand drew lines over the paper, sketching feverishly, sometimes with a pen sharp as a needle. He did a lot more than just sketching me, it wasn't just croquis to him, it was details.

I never saw any of the students' sketches, but one night, a Thursday, he came up to me after the session and asked me to look at one of his drawings. I had already dressed in jeans and t-shirt, and finally added a sweater as I felt cold in the now almost empty room before following him to his desk. He smiled and our fingers brushed against one another as he handed me something that was not a croquis sketch, but a completed drawing that looked so much like me I couldn't believe it. I asked him if they weren't supposed to be doing just basic sketches of my form, and he just said that it was more challenging to draw someone who changed their position every ten minutes. I smiled, agreeing with him as I held the drawing back out to him. He said I could keep it if I just had dinner with him the next day. He silently meant it to be a date but I didn't know that, so I just agreed again before leaving the building with the drawing of me in my hand. I barely even registered his hand resting lightly on my lower back.

When he picked me up the next night I felt like an idiot as I realized I was really under dressed, wearing the same clothes I had worn for school; ripped jeans and an old Misfits hoodie. He on the other hand looked as if he had spent hours on his appearance, wearing tight, dark pants, a white button up shirt and a black jacket. His black, almost shoulder-length hair was straightened, ruffled just the right way with the right amount of hairspray in it and it framed his pale face where his dark eyes stood out, rimmed with eyeliner. His lips shimmered pink from the lip balm he wore as he smiled sweetly, yet confidently, reaching a hand out for me to take. I took it, almost feeling my hand disappear in his large, soft one and I wondered what on earth I had gotten myself into. He was good-looking and all, but I had never, _not ever_ , been attracted to a guy. The croquis modeling was just a job, a good way to get money for the new guitar amplifier I wanted to buy.

We walked out to his car, an expensive looking BMW, and as soon as he let go of it, I retracted my hand. He got in and I followed his example, my mind occupied with wondering what I should do. Would it be a good idea to just tell him that I wasn't interested in him like that, or would it be obvious enough that I wasn't? He never said anything about it, not until we were at a restaurant. It looked as expensive as the car, which he told me was a birthday present from his dad as well as a bribe to try to get him into something less ridiculous than art. He had smiled at me and said that he'd never give up an opportunity to paint or draw beautiful things, making me blush.

"You didn't think this was a date, did you?" He looked at me from his side of the table for two, sipping his water. The look he gave me made my stomach bubble like his water, but I didn't know why. He was so different, obviously, as he wasn't like guys I'd normally associate with.

"No, I didn't." I looked down at my half-empty plate, wondering where he was going with the awkward subject and hoping he wouldn't press it any further. His hypnotizing eyes gazed at me, making me all the more aware of everything he was making me question that night.

"It's cool. It must be weird enough for you to be sitting here with someone you're usually modeling for. I mean, it's strange for me to see you with clothes on," he chuckled, making me go from uncomfortable to comfortable and back to uncomfortable with just three sentences. "You have such a beautiful body. It's like looking at and drawing a miracle," he said dreamily and I couldn't help but blush. Then he got a thoughtful expression on his face, "Your tattoo, what does it mean? I mean, is there more meaning that just simply 'hope' behind it? It really looks good."

"Thanks, I guess. I suppose it's mostly about having hope for the future, you know?" He nodded and I brought my glass of coke to my mouth, not feeling like eating anymore. We both remained silent for a while as he finished his meal and I sipped my coke, my thoughts flying off into space but still focusing on the man in front of me.

I snapped back into reality as he spoke again, "I know this is a weird question since we just concluded that this isn't a date, but would you like to come back to my place later?" He paused and I looked at him strangely, not at all getting what he could possibly want me, or us, to do at his place. "I just really feel like drawing, and you are such a fantastic motive, my favorite to be honest." He smiled, a flirtatious glint in his sparkling eyes.

"I don't know..." I wasn't sure of how to respond, not knowing exactly what he wanted. He asked me out on a date, kept calling me beautiful and seemed genuinely interested in me, but still, if I went with him and willingly took off my clothes he could do anything.

Almost as if he had read my mind he said, "I won't rape you, I just want to draw you. I'll even pay you if that's the problem." Suddenly he reached over the table, gently grasping my hand as it rested by my plate and once again my hand was lost within the heat of his soft skin.

"Fine, I'll do it. But don't pay me. I'm not a whore." He smiled and nodded, but insisted that he payed for my meal considering that that had been his intention when he had brought me to the expensive restaurant, thinking it was a date. I didn't bother with any halfhearted protests and settled on being happy with my free meal.

We left after he payed, his hand once again placed on my lower back but I didn't care, trying to see it as a protective gesture from a friend, and not something else. He drove us to his home, which as I had suspected, was another gift or bribe from his father to get him away from college. He told me that the airy apartment was perfect for painting and drawing though, and that it would take a lot to get him to leave it or his future of doing art. When we arrived outside his apartment complex he parked the car in the underground garage and we took the elevator up to the seventh floor. A slightly awkward silence hovered in the air as I peered over at him, seeing an unreadable smile teasing at the corners of his mouth. The doors opened and I stepped out of the confined space, waiting for him to lead me in whatever direction his place was, and with his hand on my lower back he led me to the second door to the left.

As he unlocked the door and opened it he gently pushed me in front of him inside the apartment and I was literally gaping at the size of it. He had described it as airy, and I had to agree as I looked at the unusually high ceiling and open floors. I swear, my entire house would have fit inside the lounge alone.

"You can have a look around if you want to. I'm gonna get my drawing stuff," He smiled and I started feeling butterflies in my stomach as the nerves suddenly came crashing over me, full force. I was going to model naked for a guy who was obviously gay, alone. And there was something about this guy that made me feel funny in a way I shouldn't. "The bathroom's just down the hall, I'd rather you didn't go when we've already started," he said before disappearing into a room which I assumed was his studio, considering the place was that big.

I walked down the hall, glancing into the different rooms until I found the bathroom. The master bedroom definitely caught my eye as the bed was almost twice the size of my own bedroom which I had lived in for almost eighteen years. I kept going and soon found the bathroom, which for a small guest bathroom was big, as big as everything else was in comparison. I did my business and washed my hands before splashing some refreshing cold water on my face, trying to wash the nerves away. _'He's only going to fucking draw me!'_

With that mantra in my head I walked back out and down the hallway to the lounge, wondering where we would be doing it. What if he wanted me in his bedroom? The panicky thoughts vanished as I found him laying out a blanket and pillows on the floor as paper and pencils waited on the coffee table. His jacket was thrown over the back of a couch and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows, giving him a professional look. He looked up at me, that same content smile adorning his face as he stood up and stepped over to me.

"Aren't you going to take that off?" He stepped almost as close as was physically possible, our faces almost touching and I thought he was going to kiss me, but he just gazed into my eyes as his hands went up to unzip my hoodie, pushing it over my shoulders so it fell to the floor. A breath hitched in my throat and I just froze, wondering if he was breaking his promise before we even started. He noticed the tension and moved away, looking down apologetically.

"I'm sorry, I'm just a little eager. I'll just go over here and... I won't even look." He blushed sweetly and walked over to the large windows where the moon was shining in, his back turned towards me. Taking a deep breath I pulled my t-shirt over my head before undoing my belt and jeans, letting them slide off before also taking my boxers off.

I crossed my arms over my chest, but it hardly covered what he looked at as he turned back around. "Uh, where do you want me? To be, I mean." I blushed but he just pointed to the blanket and pillows which were located so that the moonshine fell straight on them.

"Sit there, facing the window with your knees bent in front of you and your arms crossed over your kneecaps." I did as I was asked, resting my head on my arms as I settled down in the bright moonlight but was soon corrected by his hands on my bare skin. "Don't slouch, just look up at the moon and straighten your back." I did as I was told, shivering as his soft hands traveled over my back and his breath ghosted over my neck. I never noticed him sitting down, but I felt his hands skimming over my thighs as he adjusted my position further.

"Is- Is this okay?" His hands stopped on my calves after bending my knees just a little more and I felt his hot breath on my neck as he whispered back.

"Yeah, just relax, are you cold or something?" He removed his hands, moving so he was in front of me instead. I shook my head slightly and his hand cupped my face, lifting it to look at him. "There's no need to be so scared," he whispered and I let out a shaky breath as he got up from the floor and sat down a few feet away with paper and charcoal in his hands.

The sound of the pencil scraping against the paper reached my ears and I trembled as I could still feel the traces of his fingers all over my body. I gazed over at him out of the corner of my eye, finding the familiar glint of passion in his eyes. He smiled over the paper as he saw me looking, glancing down at his drawing every second before meeting my eyes again. I looked back outside as time started passing and the only sounds filling the air was the same scratches of charcoal against paper, and my position really wasn't comfortable at all. My back and butt was aching and my eyes were drooping, but I had no idea how much time had really passed and without even realizing it I put my head back down on my arms, letting my eyes fall shut.

"Frank." I heard him say, but felt too tired to care. I heard him get up and soon felt his hands on my bare skin again, but what really woke me up again was the feeling of a pair of lips on my shoulder and soft whispers in my ear. "I'm almost done, just give me another five minutes. Please?" I felt his fingers thread through my hair, gently brushing it out of my face and I lifted my head up to look at him with a sigh. Again, our faces were so close I was sure he'd kiss me, but again, he didn't. He flashed me the smile I had already gotten used to and got up, returning to his place with the paper and pencil.

Five minutes passed and as he put his things down and stood up I let out a deep breath of relief before falling back on the pillows around me and stretching out, not even caring about being completely exposed in front of him. "What time is it? I have to get home." I looked up at him as he stood just next to me and accepted his offer to help me up when he held his hands out.

"It's... one thirty," he said after looking at the huge TV set behind me, his hazel eyes returning to mine as he continued, "Maybe you should stay? I don't want you walking home at this hour." He took one step closer, closing the already tiny gap between our bodies as one hand cupped my face and the other snaked around my naked waist, finding its place on my lower back.

"I don't think-" I started, but was soon interrupted by his lips moving over my neck, sending tingles throughout my tired spine and my fingers grasped the fabric of his shirt as I involuntarily craned my neck to give him more access to my neck. His teeth nipped at the sensitive skin as his hand caressed the other side and back of my neck, and I buried my face in his neck, drawing in the scent of his hair.

"You're so beautiful, your body is... I want you." He whispered against my neck, the hand he had around my neck traveling south. So many feelings rushed through my head and body, feelings I had never expected to feel, not even when I felt completely lost just holding his hand or enjoyed the feeling of his hand just where... where it was supposed to be. "I wanna be your first."

"Gerard... I- I'm not..." My body seemed to not be listening to the words that came out of my mouth as my fingers started picking at the buttons of his shirt, my lips releasing a soft moan.

"I wanna be your only one then." His hand pinched my nipple lightly, drawing a whimper from my mouth into his hair as my fingers more eagerly fought to undo his shirt. As my fingertips for the first time felt the soft skin of his chest my lips hesitantly pressed against his neck, soon kissing and sucking more feverishly. I pushed his shirt over his shoulders, groaning as his hands left my craving body for just a second before returning to let the palms of his hands devour my body.

I moaned softly as his hands and lips and tongue and teeth were everywhere, and tried to return the favor before dealing with the next problem: getting his pants off and leaving his body as naked as mine was. My hand brushed against his still clothed cock and he sighed softly in pleasure, bringing attention to my own growing member. The erection I was getting over a man. I pushed all thoughts to the back of my head, focusing on his pants and what was underneath them. I undid the belt, leaving it in as I undid the button and zip hurriedly before pulling both them and the tight boxers underneath straight down as far as I could reach. He kicked them off the rest of the way before tearing his face away from my skin and mine from his, slamming his lips into mine.

Instead of me being naked in front of him, he was now naked with me, and it felt amazing. Hands traveled and arms wrapped tightly around bodies as our tongues tangled passionately, moans slipping out every once in a while as our still growing members brushed against one another. As we stood there, still in the middle of the lounge with moonlight glittering over our bodies, his hands slid lower and closer to my ass, much lower than where he would have placed his hand protectively on my back. A whimper escaped my lips and entered his mouth as his fingers sneaked in between my ass-cheeks, rubbing around my entrance before sliding one digit in. I cried out into his mouth, almost pulling away from him as the uncomfortable feeling turned into one of pain.

"Stop!" I pulled away a little more, whispering against his lips and trying to hold tears of pain back. He withdrew his hand and let the other one cup my face, lustful hazels staring into my eyes.

"You do want this, don't you?" I nodded in his hand, feeling more turned on than ever, as well as needier and I just wanted him to control me, tell me what to do and dominate me. "It's gonna hurt, you can't avoid it." I nodded again and his lips were soon back on mine as he softly pushed me backwards and down the hall.

My hands fell down to his hips to steady myself as he kept pushing me backwards, but soon I found myself being pushed down on the huge bed I had spotted earlier. I panted heavily from the kiss, anticipation and fright as I crawled up the bed until my head rested on the many pillows placed by the top of it. I looked up at him as he stood by the foot of the bed and our eyes never left each other as he slowly crawled up to me, kissing his way from the tips of my toes to my knee, and then to my hip. My cock twitched noticeably when I felt his hot breath on it and he smirked _beautifully_ before continuing to kiss his way up to my face.

"Hey you," he breathed on my lips before kissing them lightly, "Don't look so scared, there's gonna be more pleasure than pain, I promise." My hands threaded in his hair and stroked his cheeks as he kept kissing me slowly, tenderly, lovingly... His hands slid back down my body, caressing every square inch of skin they passed until they once again reached my ass. I let him spread my legs so he could sit comfortably in between them and have easier access to me, but I couldn't help but squirm and whimper as I felt his fingers poking and prodding once more.

"Frank," he whispered and pulled away, "Take a pillow and put it just under your lower back." I did as I was told and he got off the bed for a second, a bottle of some kind and a condom in his hands when he returned to his former position. "This is lube. It makes it easier." I nodded as he opened the cap, pouring out a large amount of it on his hand before spreading it over his fingers. I swallowed harshly and he bent down to kiss my chest softly as he started sliding one finger into me, pulling a whimper from my lips as tears fell down my face. His other hand caressed my thigh gently as his lips wandered over my chest and my hands tangled in his dark hair as he moved his finger around before adding another one, forcing more tears out of my eyes and a moan escaped his lips.

"G-Gerard," I was breathing shakily, "It hurts," I whimpered as he moved the two digits in scissoring movements, definitely tearing the skin slightly.

"You're so tight. It will get better, I promise. It just has to get worse first," he mumbled against my skin as he pushed in a third finger, causing me to cry out loudly and grip his hair harder so he whimpered in return. The hand that had been caressing my thigh moved to stroke my cock slowly, making sure I didn't go down too much because of the pain. Sometime during the whole ordeal I think I felt something else, something that wasn't pain, but it was so brief and short and more pain washed over me with more scissoring movements so I had no time to reflect over it. I just let the tears flow until I felt mostly numb and he pulled his fingers out, claiming that I was stretched enough. I couldn't disagree more as his cock sure as hell was a lot bigger than his fingers, no matter how artistically beautiful and strong they were.

He wiped his fingers on the sheets before rolling the condom down over his large erection, sighing as he did so, before smothering the rubber in the same slick liquid. He moaned as he did so and I couldn't help but to like the sound and look of it, his dark wavy hair falling into his eyes as his lips were just a thin slit, letting the beautiful sounds out. My breathing was hard and irregular and my body was quivering all over as he positioned himself above me, my legs bent unnaturally and pushed up, into my chest. His eyes met my terrified ones and he wiped his hand on the sheets again before taking both of mine in his, holding them gently, but tightly and comfortingly on either side of my head.

"Relax, the bad part will be over in no time at all, just relax." He kissed me lightly, our lips touching so briefly it felt like feathers just brushing against them and it made me want more. His lips fluttered just as lightly down to my neck, his intentions being to distract me, but nothing could take away the pain I felt shooting up my spine. Tears flooded out of my eyes and no sweet whispers of his could change it, nor could the soft flutter of his lips on mine.

I think I spaced out then, my body trying to make the pain go away, but it was all I felt. I felt him in me, completely still, and I felt salty water droplets run down my cheeks. I felt him start moving, ever so slowly and it still hurt, but it soon faded away. He moaned, so softly on my skin and on my lips and soon I did as well. Minutes after he entered me the pain vanished and my body just loved having him in me, having him naked with me and in me instead of me in front of him.

"Frank," he whispered as he pulled out only to thrust back in just a little more forcefully, "Does it feel good now?" I felt him kiss my neck and nip at the sensitive spot he had created earlier, and my soft moan was reply enough. His hands left mine to roam over my body, exploring everything he never saw when he was just drawing me from afar, memorizing my details for his next drawing. Never simple croquis, just detailed portraits.

My arms and legs wrapped as tightly around him as possible, pressing our skin together and him deeper into me, both of us moaning as he nudged that spot in me so briefly. He pushed in again, harder, and it was the same feeling as before, but so much stronger and I felt as if I would come right then and there. He kept speeding up and hitting my prostate with more force, soon having me screaming in ecstasy, fingernails digging into and tainting his skin with bruises. I had never felt good like that in my entire life and with the force he was pounding into me I thought I'd snap in half, but it was still the best feeling I had ever felt, the pain was gone and forgotten. He panted in my ear, lips brushing against my skin every now and then, and every time my name left his lips I arched my back, pushing my body closer to his, pushing both of us closer to our orgasms.

His nimble fingers traced along my cock lightly and that's when I lost it. A few more hard thrusts to my spot and another few screams of his name and whispers of mine, and I came, harder and better than ever. Whimpering, I buried my face in his neck as he kept going, moaning as he was so close, crying out softly as he came inside of the condom, in me. I let go of him, trying to ignore the pain in my entire body, especially my ass, as he pulled out and got off of me, letting me roll over, and the next second I was asleep.

The morning after was the strangest morning after ever, as I woke up in the bed with him sitting a few feet away, drawing me. I groaned as I tried to move my sore body and he just smiled towards me, his hand never leaving the paper he was drawing on. He was dressed, wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, whereas I wasn't even covered by a thin sheet, it was lying in a heap on the floor where he left it after uncovering me so he could draw me. Draw, not sketch. No croquis.

**II. Continuation**

Croquis, that's how we continued. I kept modeling for his croquis class where everybody but him did quick sketches of the outline of my body. He never did, his eyes roamed over my bare skin, etching every little square inch of it into his mind so he could remember it and use it for future drawings, portraits of my naked body. The body he called beautiful and perfect. The body I let him own.

When I left that morning after he made me his own, we never spoke about seeing each other again. He just called me a cab, stuck a wad of bills in my hand to pay for it and with his hand on my lower back he pushed me out the door. I walked slowly to the elevator, not wanting to cause myself too much pain in my hurting lower parts, and I found myself wondering if I'd even see him again. I did, of course, and as I sat there, naked as always in front of the group of college students, I liked the feeling of his burning stare on me and I knew what the passionate flame in his eyes was really about. He didn't talk to me that first night after our date, but the next time, the Thursday, he walked up to me afterwards, asking me to go out for dinner with him again. I could feel it somewhere deep inside me that it would inevitably end the exact same way if I went out with him again, so I said yes. Something about his burning stare and warm hands that made me feel so lost made me long to feel him so close again, to have my fingers tangled in his dark, soft hair as his lips and tongue and teeth clashed with mine.

It went just as expected, and when we returned to his apartment after dinner and a movie, I was once more naked in front of him. Pleasured sighs left my lungs and shivers crept up my spine as his warm hands slid my clothes off, his breath hot on my colder skin as he placed me on the couch this time. With my head propped up on cushions and my arms surrounding it, he drew me Titanic-style, but it was so much better, so much more beautiful. His warm, fiery stare caressed my body, maybe even more gently than a passionate lover's hands, and instead of the artist blushing like in the movie, I felt pink warmth stain my cheeks.

Once he was done he just left the drawing lying where he had been sitting, like he had the previous week, before stepping over to me and straddling me on the couch. He had me there that night, just like he'd have me every time he'd finish a new drawing of me. He'd touch me, care for me, kiss me as he made love to me the only way he could, the way only he could. He loved me the way only an artist can love his muse, and he would always let me know it. He always told me how much he wanted to draw me, how much he wanted to preserve the look on my face when he made me look the most beautiful.

And I loved him. I never felt more complete than when he drew my pictures or when he was inside of me, making me scream his name in pleasure as he whispered mine so carefully. He made me feel almost as completed and perfect as he thought I was, and I felt that I had finally found my place, the butterfly flutter of his lips over my heart sending sparks through the muscle, making it beat faster.

"I wanna draw you, my love," he whispered, lips pressed against the jack-o-lantern tattoo on my back as his fingers caressed the 'Halloween' one on my knuckles, and I smiled at the thought of when he came with me to get them, him fainting both times at the sight of the tattooing equipment, especially the needles which he was terrified of.

His arms were tightly wrapped around my torso as we were spooning. I could feel his slight morning wood starting to fade against my thigh and I just melted in his embrace, sighing contently as his lips ventured back up to my neck, kissing the sensitive spot he had seduced me with so long ago. "I'm tired, Gee," I whined before gasping in surprise as he rolled me over, straddling me as he captured my lips in a deep kiss, leaving me completely out of breath as he pulled away.

"You only have to lie here, looking beautiful as always. You can even sleep as long as you don't move," he smiled and I felt a wave of love wash over me as I pulled him back in for another mind-blowing kiss, one of many we had shared in our relationship. My fingertips massaged the back of his neck gently as our tongues explored familiar territory, dancing with one another. Eyelashes swept against skin as eyelids fluttered shut and our noses bumped into each other softly, causing a giggle to erupt from my throat as he pulled away with another smile. "I love you," he whispered, stars shining in his eyes.

"I love you too, Gerard." I let my hands fall down his warm body, feeling every little curve and muscle. My fingertips tingled just by gliding over his soft skin and the soft dark hairs adorning his broad chest. My hands wandered all the way down by his hips to his thighs that rested on either side of my body, goose bumps appearing over the sensitive skin there and I resisted the urge to challenge him in a tickle-fight, knowing full well that he'd win anyway.

"I know," he whispered and brushed a loose strand of hair out of my face before running his thumb under my eyes as if he was brushing something away from there too. "Eyelash," he answered my questioning look before blowing the tiny lash away, making a wish unknown to me. "Now 'sleep'!" he laughed, using air quotes and gesturing for me to close my eyes.

"Do you want me to just lie like this?" I asked, eyes shut, as he got off of me and the bed. He had drawn me in the wee hours of morning many times before, more than I could actually remember, but if he wanted to draw me sleeping he did just that, he didn't wake me up to pretend I was sleeping.

"Lie on your side, no your right side, with your head on your arm. Do you think you could you like, reach your hand out in front of you, palm up?" I sighed, doing as I was told but being used to it as it was the same thing almost every day. My eyes remained closed, even when a small square object was placed in my hand and my curiosity kicked in. "Can you promise me that you won't try and figure out what this is and that you won't open your eyes?"

"Yes," I sighed, smiling at how cute he was, setting up a surprise for me so I had to hold it in my hand for hours before I could actually know what it was. He kissed my lips quickly before sitting down on a chair next to the huge bed we now shared together every night.

The sound of the pencil scraping against paper filled the air, almost lulling me to sleep as it was such a familiar, comforting sound. It made me feel safe as it was almost heard more often than his own voice, but only almost. "You're so beautiful," he said and I smiled, being completely awake due to his soft voice speaking words I'd never get bored to hear.

"You are too, you know," I replied, but as always I got nothing but a slight scoff, telling me that he thought I was dead wrong, even stupid for comparing him to myself. At rare occasions he'd smile and say that it was just me who was rubbing off on him, but I knew that he deep inside didn't even mean that. I couldn't even understand why he thought so lowly about himself because he was good looking, and I'm not talking for just myself when I say that. His body was toned with just the right amount of curves on it, with cute, slightly feminine hips and his hands were those of pure perfection. He'd been drawing his entire life and that was something clearly noticeable when you looked closely at his hands. They were so experienced, having seen and drawn so much in his life of now twenty-seven years. "Gerard?"

"Mm," he muttered, as always focusing on his drawing, as always getting the details just right.

"Have we really been together for almost five years?" I whispered softly, a smile on my lips as I thought about the dreamily wonderful years we had already shared. We had been officially together since a while after my eighteenth birthday, and I had joined him in this perfect apartment after I graduated high school, quitting the croquis modeling job at the same time. I went to college after that, majoring in psychology here in this town so I could stay with him, already knowing I had always been meant to be with him.

"Yeah, are you trying to tell me you're getting sick of me already?" He chuckled and I was glad to have restored the relaxed air in the room instead of the tension that had been created by his insecurities.

"No, I'll never get sick of you. I want to be with you forever, you know that." I smiled softly in my 'sleep' and the happy atmosphere stayed with us for what I hoped would be forever, and it at least seemed that way for the longest time.

A few hours later his drawing was finally finished and with happiness in his voice he asked me to open my eyes. I expected to just see the room as it always was, the thought of the item in my hand only lingering somewhere in the back of my head, but that wasn't what I saw. The beautifully shaded drawing of me on the bed was displayed right in front of me and it took me a few moments to fully realize what it was that I held in my hand. "Gee, is that..." My words trailed off and as he removed the sheet of paper, letting me see the real item in my hand, I couldn't hold back any tears.

"Will you marry me?" he asked shyly from where he sat on the bed and my eyes flickered up to him from my hand and back, and then to his beautiful face once more. I tried to sit up, but my arm was asleep after lying in the awkward position with my head resting on it and I couldn't support myself without dropping it, the small black box with the most perfect ring ever in it almost falling out of my hand. He saw my dilemma and helped me up, pulling me into his arms and on his lap as I wrapped my arms around his neck. His clothes felt foreign against my naked skin, but the feel of his scent and his soft hair was familiar enough.

"Yes, of course! I love you, so so so so much," I cried in his neck, just overwhelmed by the fact that the love of my life just proposed to me, feeling as if the shock would cause me to fall apart if I didn't have his arms wrapped so closely around me. I had never really grasped why he wanted me; I was just a small boy, naked in front of another boy, a man, who loved to draw. It was always just me naked in front of him.

"I love you too, you're my world, my muse, my everything." He gently pried the open jewelery box from my hand with one hand as the other stayed just where it belonged on my lower back, holding me but giving us as much space as was need for him to see my face as he slid the silver band, encrusted with five crystals, over my ring finger. He wiped the happy tears off my face before leaning in to kiss me, slowly and passionately as my arms wrapped around his neck once more.

"Are you really going to be my only one forever?" I whispered upon pulling away, looking into his eyes where stars were still twinkling as brilliantly as the crystals on my ring.

"Yes." His hands caressed my face and I leaned in to connect our lips again, wanting to feel and taste more of my fiancé. He pulled away once more with one final peck on my lips before speaking, "Do you like the ring?" I nodded, smiling as I looked down at my left hand where the ring was now partially covering an 'E', but it didn't matter. It was the sign of me really belonging to him and I couldn't ever be happier about anything. "It's white gold and diamonds, the closest thing to something so perfect as you as I could find, but it's still nowhere near comparable to you. You're just too perfect, in every way." Fresh tears welled up in my eyes and I nuzzled my head in the crook of his neck, trying to find a reasonable way to react to his words, if there even was one.

"I love you, you're so amazing, Gee. The ring must have cost a fortune; you didn't have to buy something like this." My fingers tugged slightly on the hem of his t-shirt, creeping in underneath it to feel the soft skin I adored, drawing a pleasured sigh from my lover's lips.

"Don't worry about that, I wanted to get you the best and I did." He lay me down carefully on the bed, fingers, lips and eyes running all over my body, caressing every patch of skin they could find and reach. I gently tugged his t-shirt off of his torso before letting the sweatpants he wore slide down and off his legs until he could just kick them off the rest of the way.

Just like every time he'd draw me it ended the same way, instead of me naked in front of him, he was naked with me, in me. Like every time, the feeling of fulfillment got the very best of me and I could do nothing but surrender my body, letting moans, whimpers and screams out, knowing that the response was very much worth the possibly sore throat I ended up with. His soft, loving whispers in my ear during those times were what I lived for and nothing would ever compare to them.

"Frank?"

"Yeah," I whispered, snuggling into his warm, sweaty embrace as I felt ready to just fall asleep after making love with my fiancé, the love of my life and the meaning of my life. I was brought to life to inspire him. I was born to make him happy. I was there for him and he was my only one.

"How soon do you want to have the wedding?" His arms tightened around my body as he rolled over slightly, lying on his back instead of his side so my head was now resting a few inches above his heart.

"As soon as possible," I said, planting multiple soft butterfly kisses over his chest, as his hands gently wove through my damp hair, brushing it out of my face.

"I'd really like to draw you right now, but I'm too tired," He said as I smiled up at his face, also smiling, before reaching up to attach our lips in a loving kiss. Our lips moved lazily with one another, but I still felt the familiar tingles he always gave me, sending them running up my spine as his warm hands surrounded me, making me completely lost within him.

"Go to sleep then," I whispered upon breaking the kiss and lying back down, nuzzling my face in his neck and hair this time. Feeling so close to him just by having his scent filling my nostrils—freshly sharpened pencils and charcoal, and fresh paper. Planting another butterfly kiss to his skin I drifted off, his soft breaths lulling me to sleep.

We got married six months later, having a really big wedding with all of our friends and family and other people we actually didn't know very well there. Nevertheless, it was very much the happiest day in our lives, spent with identical grins on both of our faces that only grew wider with every time we touched or saw each other. It was a day of absolute perfection and we both felt it as it made our hearts beat just that little faster every time our eyes met, and every time either of us uttered those three blissful words.

Dancing our very first dance as a married couple, one of our first dances altogether actually as we were never big on dancing, to Dusty Springfield's old classic _You Don't Have To Say You Love Me_ was what I can only describe as romantic and cozy. With my hands locked behind his neck and his hands where they had always belonged on my lower back our eyes stayed connected throughout the whole song, even as we occasionally leaned in for a short kiss, the same huge grins plastered on our faces.

We made love long and thoroughly that night, so many times I couldn't even tell if it actually was only one long time or several times over and over, I was just captured in his eyes and lost within his warm, big hands. He drew a portrait of me, of course, I don't know if we ever made love without him drawing me first, or if he ever drew a picture without us making love afterwards. It happened at his croquis classes of course, but other than that, those drawings really built our entire relationship, our love and everything around it.

That night he drew me in our honeymoon suite, setting me up by a huge window with a view out towards the street far below. The moonlight shone on me just like the first time he drew a picture of me in his apartment, but it mixed with the streetlights and it seemed like a completely new light, just like it was a new step in our relationship. The window reached all the way down to the floor so I just sat there with one leg bent with the sole of my foot on the floor so I could wrap my arms around it, and the other leg rested on the floor, the foot tucked in behind the other one. It was so completely different, but it felt so much like the first time. I even felt shivers run up my spine, leaving goose bumps on my skin.

"Are you cold?" He looked carefully at me from his position on the couch a few feet away, love and concern shining in his eyes. My eyes left his to fall to the wedding band on his left ring finger, made in white gold so mine would match the engagement ring he had bought me. These weren't encrusted with diamonds though, they were just blank, with short inscriptions on the insides. **Croquis - September 24, 1999**. It was a rather odd inscription, but it made sense to us as it was when he gave me the first of his drawings of me and asked me to have the dinner that came to be so important and the first in a series of important dates. It was his idea to put it in our rings and I was just so shocked that he remembered the date that I immediately agreed. He was such a romantic person and his drawings were a really big part of that.

"No, but I miss you over here." He smiled as he kept drawing, putting all effort into the details of my newest tattoo, a black scorpion on my neck, something I had wanted to get for the longest time but been afraid to because my job might not have liked it. No one had complained, not even patients, so as long as I didn't meet anyone with a phobia of scorpions I seemed to be fine. He ran a hand through his hair, moving it out of his face so he could see more clearly and I met his passionate eyes as he looked at me.

"What are you looking at?" he questioned as I kept eyeing him as he created yet another flawless drawing. I had seriously never seen him use an eraser, he never seemed to make any mistakes when he drew, at least not when he drew me.

"What do you think I'm looking at? It couldn't possibly be my husband of around ten hours who is just sitting on the other side of the room, drawing instead of spending _quality time_ with his husband, could it?" I whined playfully, making him look up with a mischievous glint in his sparkling happy eyes.

"If you'd just give him five more minutes he'd more than make it up to you later." He smirked, perfecting the details of the almost finished portrait. He must have made billions of them by then, often many more than just one a day. He drew my pictures as if his life depended on it and I never dared to say no, afraid he'd make a fuss about it, accusing me of not being supportive, but believe me, I supported him as if my life depended on it.

"Fine, but I'll hold him to that so he'd better not try to get away," I sighed exasperatedly, knowing that there was no point in stressing him and to just wait for him to finish instead, which actually happened sooner rather than later. I grinned widely as he finally put the pencil and paper down, finally looking at me the way I had longed for him to look at me.

"Why would I ever want to get away from you?" he said, rising from his seat and walking over to me, joining me on the floor as I tugged gently on his already loosened tie, crashing our lips together. I stretched my legs out, letting him straddle my middle as my fingers worked on getting his shirt of, revealing his chest to me. "I'll never leave you, you're perfect."

**III. End**

Croquis, that's how we ended. We were a couple that believed we would never change, that we'd always be like two horny teenagers, always wanting to be the closest we could. He thought I was perfect and he loved drawing me and we just thought that that would be forever, as all couples do, I suppose. But his detailed drawings, the portraits, faded, becoming the simple sketches of boring contours like they had been supposed to be all along. Time aged us and made us see that love wasn't as blind as we thought.

It was October, just a short while before my thirty-ninth birthday, when I first started thinking more about it, seeing how rarely we were close, how we were drifting apart. Our lives were the same every day, one woke up and showered as the other had breakfast before switching, and then going to work separately. When we got home we barely had time to have dinner before he had to leave again. He was teaching at the School of Visual Arts, the very same nighttime croquis class as we met in, amongst others.

So we had issues with never having time to be intimate together anymore, I thought that was the only problem and that it would be easily solved. I thought I could talk to him, that we would be able to rekindle the flame we had had burning fifteen years earlier, when we married, when we thought nothing could ruin us because we were perfect, in each other's eyes, at least.

"Gee?" I whispered, almost afraid to let the man on the other side of the bed hear me. I hoped he was sleeping so that he wouldn't hear me and we could just go on like this, not arguing, but I wished he'd hear and that he'd just hold me and apologize. For what, I really didn't know, but it didn't matter.

"What?" he groaned back turned towards me and I knew this would undoubtedly be as hard as it possibly could.

"I- We- I think we need to talk," I whispered quietly and was surprised to know that he even heard me. Tears were welling up in my eyes before sliding down my cheeks and my lip was quivering as I wondered how this happened.

"Can't it wait till tomorrow?" He sighed, sounding annoyed and I choked on a sob, the sound causing him to finally turn around, a shocked expression on his beautiful face as he saw that I was crying. Yet, he didn't react the way he should have, not embracing me in a tight, protective hug like I wanted him to. "Frank, what's wrong?" he asked hesitantly and more tears rolled down my cheeks.

"H-how c-can you e-even ask that? O-our relationship and marriage is falling apart and you're asking what's wrong!" I cried, throwing the duvet aside and getting out of bed, leaving the bedroom. I walked to the lounge, sitting down on a couch briefly before getting up again, having too much pent up frustration that needed to be let out through just some kind of movement. Standing by the window where it all began, I heard steps walking down the hallway towards the lounge and my tears just kept falling, never letting my cheeks dry up.

"Frank..." I didn't turn around, waiting for him to say something more or at least walk to me. I looked out, up towards the sky, finding that dark clouds were blocking the moon and heavy raindrops fell just like my constant tears.

I finally heard steps cross the floor and felt a familiar hand rest on my lower back. "Why don't you love me anymore, Gerard?" The hand on my back moved as arms wrapped around me from behind, yet not providing any comfort at all.

"Of course I love you, why wouldn't I love you?" He whispered in my neck, and I shivered although his warmth radiated from his chest and arms to me, but it felt alien to be so close to him after so long.

"I can see it in your eyes, Gerard. We haven't been intimate for ages and you never draw me anymore. Am I not your muse anymore? Am I not beautiful? You never even let me see the last drawings you made," I rambled quietly not protesting when he pulled me into a proper embrace, his fingers threading through my hair as my head rested on his shoulder. He pressed his lips to my temple and my fingers picked on the hem of his t-shirt he'd always sleep in. I hadn't seen him properly in so long.

"I love you, Frank. I really, really love you, so much," he whispered, sounding as if he was trying to convince himself more than me. "I'm sorry, I love you," he cried quietly in my hair, holding me so close it almost hurt, and although I couldn't believe his words I relaxed in his arms, breathing in the scent of his now dark brown hair.

"Draw me, Gee, draw a picture of me like you used to," I whispered in his hair, feeling a real need to be naked in front of him like I always used to. I wanted him to see me and not care about how I had changed and aged. I wriggled out of his grip, staring intently on him as I slowly pulled my own t-shirt over my head, letting it fall to the floor as his eyes wandered over my bare chest.

"Frank, I don't know..." He looked at me hesitantly, obviously not wanting to.

"If you love me you'll do it," I whispered, our eyes still connected as my hands fell to my hips, starting to push my pajama bottoms down over my hips. "Draw me like you did the first time you made love to me. Make me feel beautiful again, make me believe that you still think I'm beautiful, please, Gerard." He reached a hand out, as if to touch me, but lowered it again with a nod before going to get a pen and paper. As he left the room I couldn't help but fall to my knees as sobs racked my body, tears forcing their way out of my eyes like I forced him to draw me. He didn't want to, didn't want me, and the terrible thing was that it was all so obvious. He couldn't hide it and when he denied it he just made it all so much worse.

I wished I could have at least known exactly when he stopped loving me, for how long we had been dead like this. I loved him so much, and despite the slight wrinkles, a little extra weight and a few gray hairs he was still the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and he would always be my only one. The love of my life. Had I become so ugly with age that he just couldn't feel the same any longer? I knew that time had had the same effects on me as him and that my older tattoos faded with age, but was it really that bad? Did he feel that he couldn't talk to me anymore? Why did I feel that I couldn't talk to him, and for how long had it been like that? Why...

"Why?" I whimpered, still crying as I waited for him to come back. As several minutes passed I got the feeling that he wouldn't do it and that he had just gone back to bed, really showing how much he cared about me and about us.

I heard steps approaching me again and felt a warm, large hand on my shoulder, but it didn't bring me the feeling of getting lost in him as it used to. "Frank? We don't have to, you know. We can just go to bed," he whispered.

"No, I want to do this." I stood up, feeling his eyes staring at me as I slid my pants of, being naked in front of him for the first time in ages. The fiery passion he used to have in his eyes wasn't there anymore, and I felt more awkward than I ever had, although I knew he had seen more of me than anyone. He knew me inside and out.

"You can lie on the couch, like the second time you were here. Remember?" He tried to put on a smile, a genuine, loving one, but failed miserably. But I nodded, never being able to forget the most magical moments in the early days of our life together. Everything about that particular night had been so perfect and romantic, so fulfilled. "You look so sad," he said quietly a few minutes later, the sounds of pencil scraping against paper only filling the air occasionally.

"So do you." A tear slid down my cheek again, disappearing in my hair as I eyed him carefully, watching every move he made and searching for that passion his eyes used to hold, the fiery glint that once made me so happy, that wanted to make me happy. It was as if he had died with our relationship. He looked down at the paper, a sigh of defeat sounding throughout the room as he put his head in his hands. "What's wrong?" I heard him let out a low sob and left the couch to kneel in front of him where he sat on a chair. Gently prying his hands away from his face I looked up at him and finally, his eyes met mine. "What's wrong, Gerard?"

His hands caressed my face, gently cupping my cheeks as his warmth spread through me. "I can't draw anymore. I can't- I just- I love you! But I can't draw you... I can't draw," he cried and I literally felt my heart break for him. I rose up from the floor and pulled him into a hug as I sat down on his lap, one leg on either side of him. He cried in my neck and the salty droplets ran down my bare chest, one after another until they were absorbed by the fabric of his t-shirt, our torsos being pressed closely together. "I'm sorry, Frank, so sorry." His strong arms held me close to him, his left hand resting on my lower back protectively like it always used to.

"It's okay, Gee, I promise, it's alright," I whispered softly in his hair, eventually feeling his sobs die down. "Why didn't you tell me? You could have just told me. H-how long have you... felt like this?" I pressed my cheek against his soft hair, enjoying the feeling of being so close to him, but wishing it was under different circumstances and that I could have just been a naked boy in front of his boyfriend or husband again. I wished that I could be his muse, his perfection, his beauty that he wanted to draw a picture of every minute of every day.

"A year, at least. I'm sorry." He pressed his lips to my neck, kissing the scorpion adorning the otherwise pale skin. "I was afraid you wouldn't love me anymore, that we'd just fall apart because... because it felt so important. I'm sorry it happened anyway," he whispered softly, arms tightening even more around me.

"Is it because of me?" I whispered quietly, just needing to know if it was partially my fault that we were so far apart, though it was my fault that I hadn't spoken to him sooner. I was a coward, not even daring to talk to my husband of fifteen years.

"N-no, no," he said a little too fast, and realizing this he continued, "I don't think so. I love you, I really do. Why won't you believe me?" Then he did something unexpected, to me at least. He removed his face from my neck and cupped my cheeks in his warm hands again, kissing me for the first time in too long. He moved his lips carefully against mine as if he was afraid to really kiss me, and I was just in shock, not even remembering the last time he kissed me. My body suddenly sprang to life, my lips parting to let his begging tongue into my mouth and from there on it was all a blur of long lost memories, passion and love.

I wasn't naked in front of him, but he was naked with me, in me.

And just like that our relationship seemed to bloom once more, although the tradition of drawing was put behind us. We were happy, feeling almost like a completely fresh couple, just falling in love for the first time and it was all so perfect. He held me again, letting me get lost in his warm hands before bringing me into safety with his hand on my lower back, and he kissed me, smiled at me and made love to me. He whispered my name, always whispered, as he told me he loved me and wished he could draw me. He never stopped doing that and it made me feel loved and beautiful like only he could make me feel.

Our lovely bliss lasted for several years, though we were already unknowingly drifting apart physically and emotionally the year after as a new bunch of students started taking his classes, and he had so much work with the sketching technique he had always despised so much. I never understood why he took the job as a croquis teacher, but he said it was because it reminded him of me, that it was like having me with him at work all the time. When he said that, I jokingly suggested that I'd take the modeling job back, but he just smiled and said I was too beautiful for croquis, that there was so much more than a simple outline of my body. But I found out that that was just something he said a while later when I looked through a folder of old drawings, finding a plastic pocket in the back with drawings dated to around the time when he stopped showing me them.

They weren't drawings, not his portraits filled to the brim with love and passionate details. They were getting bleaker and more sad as time went on, the last ones being only a few lines. A contour, the outlining of the form of a body, a simple croquis sketch. That was all I was to him, I just knew it, but as long as he stayed with me, always telling me that he loved me, with words or his body. I was happy. Because I felt it deep inside that he'd never again love me with his pencil and paper, not even if he tried.

So, as that new school year started, he did work a lot more, coming home later than he was supposed to and claiming that he had to work a lot of overtime. I found it really strange but let him do it as he seemed happier than in a long time, as if he really enjoyed his job and maybe finally started seeing croquis as something beautiful. The next few years it was the same, he always worked late nights, often waking me up around midnight when he crawled into bed, wrapping his arms around my middle as he kissed my neck and whispered an apology. I accepted it every time, only arguing about it a few times as it only led to me forgiving him in the end anyway. I couldn't complain either as he spent so much of his free time with me, almost more time than we had ever spent together when we had been young and carefree. We'd just be together, go for walks in the park holding hands or stay at home doing absolutely nothing, but doing it together. I was happy, he seemed happy and he seemed to finally love his job.

His job, which made him have a lot of days off as he instead worked a lot of nights, let him stay at home most days, apparently doing nothing. He was usually just watching old movies or something when I got home around five from my job at the hospital which my psychology studies had granted me with. Still I never saw any of our problems coming beforehand, so maybe I wasn't as well educated as my degree made it seem. I had been let off early one day, however, and was happy to go home as I knew he would be waiting for me at home, waiting to hold me as we finished watching whatever movie he was watching together.

But when I let myself into the apartment, walking in to the lounge where the TV was indeed on with some film, he wasn't there. I thought that he had probably just gone to the bathroom or something so I sat down, relaxing after the short but hard day of work and dealing with too many patients in too little time. But as my eyes soon caught something bright green lying on the coffee table, I reached for what seemed to be a folder with drawings in it. Drawings like mine but not of me, they were of a young boy. There were photos in the folder too, of the same young boy who couldn't possibly even be old enough to get into a bar to buy himself alcohol. There was something much too innocent over the messy, blonde hair and blue eyes. I didn't want to jump to conclusions, at least not without talking to my husband or having more to go on, but as I closed the folder to the see **Jacob** written in my husbands' messy handwriting with a love heart just underneath on the front, I couldn't keep my heart from falling to the pit of my stomach.

A faint moan echoed through the apartment and I hoped with all my heart that it came from the neighbor's slutty teenage daughter, but I somehow knew that it had to be closer to home. Getting up off the couch, I left the folder of drawings behind as I walked down the hallway, just like the first time I had been there and had sought the bathroom by the end of it. I could see from the other end of the hallway that the bathroom door was ajar, telling me that no one was there, and tears fell down my cheeks as more muffled moans and groans sounded from our bedroom. I put my hand on the doorknob, hesitating for the longest minute in my life as I just didn't want to open it. I didn't want to see it because that would make it real. I'd much rather just forget about it, pretend I never saw or heard anything, but I knew I wouldn't be able to live with him for long after this anyway.

Opening the door, seeing what was going on inside our bedroom made me feel sick and I thought I was going to throw up my lunch, but I was completely frozen to the spot, not one muscle moved. My heart seemed to have stopped, simply too broken to keep beating, and my lungs just couldn't draw in air, nor could it release any. My eyes stung with the harsh image and the tears flooding down my face and my mouth just hung open in shock, gasping for air that my lungs didn't provide me with. Clothes I didn't recognize were left in a pile in the corner by themselves as my husband’s clothes were strewn around the bed, a sure sign that this boy had been naked in front of him, before being joined with him, my love, my only one—before having my man _inside_ of him. Limbs were just a tangled mess, hands and legs reaching and wrapping around bodies as skin melted into skin, saliva, sweat and other body fluids being exchanged as moans of names and explicits filled the air.

_"Mm Gee, harder baby."_

_"Jake, fuck Jake, you're, oh you're so fucking tight."_

No one saw me; the two men were far too engulfed in their pleasurable activities to even glance sideways, only caring about whom they were absolutely closest to. Who they were naked with; who they felt so good with that it wasn't even describable with words. They cared about nothing but who they were in love with.

_"I love you, Gerard! Right there, right fucking there, Gee!"_

Lips attacked one another eagerly for a few minutes as I watched all movements on _our_ the bed speed up, and I watched my husband _make love_ to this boy like he rarely did to me, even in our good days. Every kiss, every caress and every whisper meaning so much.

_"Jake, you're so beautiful."_ Kiss. _"You have no idea how much I wish I could draw you right now."_ Kiss. _"You're perfect, angel."_ Kiss. Kiss. Kiss. _"I love you so much."_

_"How much, Gee?"_

I watched my husband of almost twenty years make love to another man, someone younger, more beautiful and perfect, and I still couldn't bring my body to move. I couldn't slam the door shut, run out of the apartment and slam that door too before breaking down in the elevator on the way down to the ground floor. I had to stand there, watching and hearing my life being stolen from me.

_"I love you more than anything."_

A loud moan escaped the blonde boy's lips as my husband slammed into him harder, always adding more force with every thrust. I watched their movements become frantic, my limbs still locked in place, and heard their moans, whimpers and screams follow the pattern of approaching climaxes. Tears kept flowing out of my eyes and I finally managed to close them as 'I love you's were repeatedly exchanged between the loving couple on the bed, taunting me with what I'd never have again, what I had never really had.

They were still, the only exception being their heaving chests as they panted, satisfied smiles adorning their faces. They didn't know they had destroyed a life and broken a man, not yet. They were still off in the land of love and bliss, where perfection was allowed and heartbreak didn't exist. It wasn't my world. "Gerard?"

I watched him nuzzle his face in his lover-s neck, his face not looking in my direction at all, but the blue eyes of the boy stared at me, looking terrified. "Mm, what, Jacob?" he sighed contentedly, completely unaware of anything; of me.

"That wasn't me, baby." The boy still looked at me, wondering what he should do, obviously not wanting to get in the way of a fight. The dark-haired man lying in his arms, however, turned around and sat up as soon as he lay eyes on me, his previously blissful and happy eyes turning cold and worried as they met my broken ones.

"Frank..." His face was blank with shock, his mouth opening and closing without any sounds coming out, reminding me of a fish. "I- I..."I finally gained control over my body, turning around and walking out of the room and down the hallway, hearing him run after me and feeling his arms wrap around me from behind as I reached the lounge. "I can explain, really, I can explain. Don't leave, please." Heavy sobs racked my body and my knees buckled under my weight, but he held me up, clutching me to his chest. He sat me down on the couch, holding me there when I tried to get up.

"Get away from me, let go of me. I don't want to fucking see you." I cried against his bare chest, not being able to get anywhere else.

"Frank, please just listen to me," he pleaded as he fought to press me against his body, "I love you Frank, please don't go."

"Don't you fucking say that!" I pushed him off of me, taking him by surprise as I got up, standing by the wall a few meters away. "I'm fed up with your goddamn lies! I heard you, I fucking saw you telling that- that whore that you love him! That you love him more than me!" I cried and I saw the sorrow in his eyes get accompanied by rage as he got up as well, standing just in front of me, a mere inch parting my clothed body from his naked one. He was naked, completely bare in front of me.

"He's not a whore! He's my life, my muse. I need him, I have to draw him! Can't you see that? I have been happier than ever since I met him at the school." Tears were gathering in the corners of his emotional hazels, but I just couldn't feel bad for him.

"Drawing is not a synonym for fucking, Gerard. Nor is it for loving." He reached his hand up to touch my face, but stopped it just as he was about to do it, bringing it back down again. "I'm leaving. If you're so fucking happy with that kid, I suggest you marry him instead." My voice was dripping with venom as I pulled my engagement and wedding rings off of my finger, reaching out for his hand and dumping them in it.

"Please don't do this, Frank, I need you," he whimpered, silent tears falling from his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I love you, but I just can't let you cheat on me anymore." When I saw the confused expression in his eyes I continued, "You've always put your art before me, it's always been the most important part of your life. The fact that you got bored of drawing me proves that. You've never made love to me, you've always loved art. That kid seems to be your new art project, as you love him so much." I blinked a few fresh tears away. "The drawings of him are ten times the drawings you made of me. I've always been a dull croquis sketch in comparison, haven't I?" He didn't say anything, but we both knew it was true. I had never been supposed to leave my job as a croquis model for personal favors of his.

"Just do me a favor, and don't throw that kid away like a used toy. Don't break him like you broke me." I looked down at the floor and he backed away, letting me walk past him. I walked back to the bedroom, seeing the blonde boy sitting in the kitchen with an unknowing expression on his pretty face as I passed it. I hoped he would be happy about having his lover all to himself as I pulled a suitcase out of a closet, beginning to shove clothes and other stuff that I claimed as mine into it. I put my guitar back into its case, and left the apartment, clutching what was most important to me in my arms - the folder with all of Gerard's drawings of me, including the last ones, those who were just simple contour sketches. Because that's how we ended, _with croquis._


End file.
